


Red

by Vegetableswillhavetheirrevenge



Series: Sam and Jack (AKA: the Jam Fam) [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 14.03 coda, As are titles, Because canon is depriving me of my Jam Fam goodness, But feel free to offer suggestions if you think of something which fits better, Endings Are Hard, Gen, I'm using 'Red' for now, Jam Fam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-16
Updated: 2018-11-16
Packaged: 2019-08-24 11:01:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16638692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vegetableswillhavetheirrevenge/pseuds/Vegetableswillhavetheirrevenge
Summary: When Sam arrives at the Bunker after he and Dean have left Jody and AU! Kaia behind them, he isn't expecting to hear that Jack is sick. And he *definitely* isn't expecting what he discovers when he makes the journey to Jack's room. 14.03 coda.(Aka: Someone needs to help Jack.)





	Red

**Author's Note:**

> So I've actually been working on this (on and off) since 14.03 first aired. I meant to get it done within that first week but, unfortunately, life (and my inspiration) had other ideas. Nevertheless, I wanted to get it finished before I watch the new episode (14.06, for you future potential readers), so here we finally are!
> 
> Basically, I need someone to find out about that certain little Jack scene towards the end of 14.03. And I need that someone to be Sam. (I also need the Jam Fam to stop being side-lined in canon, but I suppose we have no choice but to wait and see how things go on that front. Sigh.)

Dean goes on ahead when they get back to the Bunker. It’s pretty much what Sam expected, really, after the silence which followed that little moment of openness in the car. He’s willing to give his brother some space, though, if that’s what Dean needs. To work his way through all of… _that_.

…Is it bad that he’s kind of glad Dean’s doing his processing _away_ from other people for now?

…Is it bad that he’s glad Dean’s not doing that processing around _Jack_?

It’s not that he wants Dean to be alone right now- of all people, after all, Sam _knows_ what it’s like to be possessed. He’s _intimately_ aware of that sensation Dean described. He _knows_ what it’s like to have to fight tooth and nail just to claw your way to the surface. And he _knows_ how hard it is to stay afloat and to get even the most tenuous amount of control once you’re there. He knows the guilt which accompanies every moment you’re not able to do as much. And he doesn’t want his brother to have to suffer through coping with those memories alone…

…But he also doesn’t want to risk Dean lashing out and hurting (whether physically or emotionally) any of the others who are staying at the Bunker right now. _Especially_ not Jack- not with how much potential such behaviour would have to remind the de-Graced Nephilim of those first few weeks of his life. Not when he’s in such a delicate place already.

( _And, if he’s honest with himself, he’s finding it harder than he thought it would be to keep all those memories of what Dean did with Gadreel out of his head right now, so maybe Dean’s not the_ only _one who needs a bit of time to breathe and think things through_.)

He allows himself a moment of stillness and mental preparation before he exits the garage, making a beeline through to where he hopes Castiel will have finished healing up their guest. The others will be expecting him to check in on their progress now that he’s back, and he can’t just let them down on that front just because he has a few extra things on his mind right now. As he nears the main working areas, however, he’s hit with the scent of something soft and mild and and just a little bit tangy. Which… isn’t a hundred percent out of the norm in and of itself (they’ve got a whole host of different people right now and, with how long they went without in that other world, pretty much _all_ of them have been proving pretty adventurous with the menu), but there’s not usually anybody cooking at this time of day.

Rounding one final corner, he’s met with the sight of six- no, seven, with Jules tucked pretty tightly into the corner behind the door- members of the team all lounging around the room, large bowls of what looks like soup balanced on various surfaces and laps. Adrien glances up as he enters, a smile stretching across his features.

“Hey Chief.” Then, catching sight of where Sam’s attention has been drawn, he (along with a few of the others) offers up a ‘what can you do’ shrug. “Jack’s come down with his first cold, apparently, so Castiel’s been going soup-mad for the past few hours. Figured we might as well take some of the excess off his hands.”

“Jack’s sick?”

Another shrug. “Just a bit of a cold, from what I hear. Nothing to worry about.”

A rush of relief floods over the alarm which had suddenly shot through Sam’s system, and he scolds himself for giving in to such an extreme reaction. Jack’s coping with enough right now- he doesn’t need to be made to feel even _more_ weak by Sam fretting over each and every milestone to come his way.

Judging by the knowing expressions he finds himself suddenly facing, however, he wasn’t _quite_ quick enough in hiding his reaction.

“The kid’s resting in his room right now,” Jules pipes up. “First time being sick? He could probably do with a little bit of pampering from his dad, you know? Or maybe some congratulations.” At Sam’s inquiring eyebrow, she smiles. “Jack solved the case. Saved that girl’s life, all by himself.”

Sam doesn’t even bother to try to hide the pleasant surprise and pride he feels this time. “Really?”

“Yup. Looks like he’s starting to take after his old man in the brains department, Chief.”

Ignoring the faint flush which rises on the back of his neck, along with the ripple of light-hearted laughter which passes briefly through the room, Sam steers the conversation away from Jack for now. It isn’t until he’s got the full outline of what happened in his absence- on missions both inside and out of the Bunker- that he bids everyone a temporary goodbye, turning down the offers of soup samples as he makes his way through the room and towards the kitchen and Castiel. He doesn’t linger there, either, though- just a quick run through of the main highlights of what happened in Sioux falls, and an even quicker update on Dean’s current location and mood- before leaving Cas to his continued soup-making and heading over to Jack’s room, a faint tickle of worry he can’t seem to get rid of niggling at the corner of his brain.

The door is closed when he gets there. It’s not unusual- not anymore, at least, with so many people around and with Jack so unsure of himself- so he simply waits patiently after knocking to see whether or not he’ll be granted entrance. There’s a faint sound of coughing from beyond the wooden barrier, harsher than he’d expect for a cold in such early stages, and it takes more restraint than he’d have thought possible not to simply barge straight on in and check Jack’s temperature or something.

Still, he doesn’t have to wait out the fit for _too_ long before a (somewhat subdued, and possibly slightly wary?) voice calls out “who is it?”

“It’s me. Can I come in?”

The silence stretches on for just a beat too long, and it sets the hairs on Sam’s neck tingling with alarm, sending anxious waves of _wrongwrongwrong_ barging along synapses and nerves alike so that, when the affirmative finally comes, his mind and skin are both itching in sync. He doesn’t allow any of the turmoil to show on his face, however, as he pushes the door open and steps inside, taking stock of the blanket wrapped carelessly around Jack’s  shoulders. There’s something off about the way it’s sitting- about the way it flares out behind the younger man- but he can’t quite put his finger on _what_ , given the immediate priority his brain grants to the slightly-more-pale-than-usual hue of Jack’s skin.

“You alright?” He keeps his voice light. “The others said that you were sick.”

“Just a cold. I’m fine.”

Sam blinks, unsettled for some reason. It’s true that, with all the constraints of his current workload, their limited time together has led to Jack occasionally being a little short with him, but there’s something in that tone…

“You need me to get you anything?”

“No, I’m fine.” And, even while the words are paired with a bashful laugh, Sam can’t shake the feeling that Jack is trying to rush him out of there- and not just to keep him from getting sick. It is because of the ever-so-stiff shoulders, perhaps? Or the aborted eye contact? Or maybe that Jack doesn’t seem to be showing any indication whatsoever that he wants to ask about how the Hunt went?

Whatever it is, it has all his senses on high alert.

“Everyone who’s come in here has been offering me all sorts,” Jack continues, seemingly oblivious to the alarm bells blaring within Sam’s mind. “I think I just need to sleep, though. The internet says I’ll heal faster if I get plenty of rest.”

“...Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

“Of co-”

A harsh wheeze slices through the word, and Jack spins away, yanking a handful of tissue from the box beside his bed and thrusting it up against his mouth as a series of sharp, hacking coughs shudder through his frame. The blanket shifts with him, twisting into more crumpled folds, but it’s not until Sam has already moved forward, instinct driving him to sit behind Jack and rub one hand in (hopefully) soothing circles across the younger man’s back, that he realises that _that_ was what had bothered him before. The lines of the blanket had been too _clean_ before. Too smooth. Like it had been placed there in preparation for Sam’s entrance, instead of having been already in the process of providing the warm comfort most people seek from such items when they get sick.

That doesn’t really matter right now, though, as Jack shakes and heaves beneath his touch, and Sam is left helpless to do anything but sit uselessly by until the coughs have drawn to a complete halt and Jack, after a moment of shuffling, has tossed the tissue down into what, while he can’t see it from this angle, Sam assumes is a trash can tucked down beside the bed.

“Jules told me you solved the case, by the way. How are you feeling about that?”

There are another few seconds of silence, before…

“Good, I think,” Jack admits quietly, words belied by the slight hunching Sam can feel beneath his hand. “But…”

“But what?”

“I just… she had to suffer for so long. And I was right there next to her. I had all the clues. If I had figured out what they meant _earlier_ then-”

“Jack, stop.” Finally halting the motions of his hand, he shifts it instead to Jack’s shoulders, turning him just enough that Jack should be able to see in his expression the truth in his words. “Jules and Castiel were there, too. They’re both more experienced. And neither of them were able to figure out what you did. If you hadn’t been there, Jack, there would be one more dead girl in the world today. But that’s not what happened. She’s alive right now, and out there, living her life, because of _you_. You did a good job today. Don’t second-guess yourself into thinking otherwise.”

Jack’s quiet for a few moments more, his eyes never leaving Sam’s face, before a tentative, still slightly uncertain, smile begins tug at the corner of his mouth.

“Thank you. ‘ _Chief_.’” Then, at Sam’s own (rather more bashful) smile, he turns more fully, eyes taking on a slightly more shadowed tint, and offers up something which, at first glance, could easily pass for his old innocent grin. “You probably shouldn’t stay in here, though. If I cough on y-

“...What?”

The words stop abruptly, Jack angling himself slightly away as he takes in the sudden stiffness in Sam’s expression. There’s a moment where neither of them talk- where neither of them even breathe- as Sam tilts subconsciously forward, his eyes fixated on the slight smudge he hadn’t, at their previous angle, been able to see lingering at the other corner of Jack’s lips.

Red.

It’s staining his chin just a little bit red.

“Jack-”

Another shudder suddenly stiffens Jack’s form, and he spins around again, grabbing once more at the tissues. This time, though, Sam moves fast. Before the younger man can get his hand even half-way towards the trash, Sam’s off the bed and and around it, hand darting out to bring Jack’s movement to a dead stop. There’s a second where it seems like Jack is going to fight him on this- where muscles tighten beneath his grip and fingers close ever more tightly around their prize- before he gives up, his whole posture deflating- defeated- under the sheer levels of concern which have enveloped their interaction.

They both know the jig is up.

Moving almost hypnotically, Sam reaches out and unfurls Jack’s fingers…

Then stills.

He can’t move, at first. His breath feels tight in his throat. His thoughts have ground to a standstill, overwhelmed in an instant by the millions of images and fears and memories which burst through it, and now all he can see in his mind’s eye is Jack, lying still and alone in this very bed, blood trickling down his chin, Sam too late to notice because he’d been too god-damned _distracted_ to pay attention.

Slowly, slowly, he reaches out, one finger prodding gently against an unblemished section of the tissue, as though needing to confirm with his body what his mind says his eyes are seeing, before his gaze shifts up, up, up and over to Jack’s face.

It’s not until he sees the expression there that he finally wakes up again, protective instincts surging to the forefront and drowning out all but the very strongest elements of his fear.

_Ashamed._

Jack looks _ashamed_.

His eyes don’t quite meet Sam’s own, angling instead downwards and to the side. His jaw is clenched, the skin around his eyes and mouth equally tight.

“I didn’t want to worry you,” he admits, though his voice is barely audible even in the cold, still silence which is surrounding them. Sam’s heart thuds painfully against its mortal cage.

“Jack-”

“No, I’m fine.” Jack’s eyes flick up at last, an insistent and reassuring grin forcing its way out past the shadow still poisoning those cornflower blue depths. “Really. It’s just because I’ve been coughing so much, that’s all. My body’s not used to it. But I’ll be fine in no time, I prom-”

Then, in an instant, he falters. Maybe it’s because he catches sight of something in Sam’s gaze, or maybe it’s the reality of the situation finally catching up with him, but all of that forced, almost _manic_ cheer drops away in one earth-shattering sob, and Jack collapses inward, one hand coming up to grip (painfully tight, if the whiteness of his knuckles are any indication) near the collar of Sam’s jacket. His head drops onto his chest, until all that is visible is mussed brown hair.

The admission, when it comes, is quieter than any of the words before it, but it echoes in Sam’s ears as loudly and clearly as it would had it been yelled through a megaphone.

“ _I’m scared, Sam._ ”

And Sam can’t afford to let fear or regret dictate his actions right now. Not when Jack is- not when _his son_ is hurting so badly. Taking a subtle, steadying breath, he softens his voice, allowing the full force of both his empathy and his determination to take the lead.

“Is this because of your Grace?”

Jack nods, his own voice still barely more than a whisper. He lifts his head once more, revealing the glistening sheen in his eyes just as the first tear trickles slowly down his cheek. “I think so.”

“Alright. Then I think it’s time for a priority shift. You, me, Castiel. Maybe even Dean. We’re gonna figure this out.”

“But Michael is-”

“Michael is still important. And we’re not just gonna forget about him. But we’ve got plenty of people here who can work on tracking him- hell, we even got an idea today of how we might be able to hurt him, though it might take some effort to make it work. But you’re family, Jack. And I’m not about to make you go through this alone.”

The seconds tick by, each one longer than the last, Jack’s searching eyes fixed without pause on Sam’s until, finally, Jack’s fingers tighten against Sam’s jacket, the younger man giving a quick shake of the head (though not, by the looks of it, in rejection).

“I’m still scared.”

“And you’ll probably continue to be,” Sam acknowledges, recalling a not dissimilar time in his _own_ life. “That’s natural, and it’s okay.” Reaching up with a careful, unwavering touch, he gently dislodges Jack’s fingers, placing the still half-rigid digits between his own and hoping beyond all hope that the gesture is capable of conveying some small measure of comfort. “But we’re not going to stop trying, Jack. Not until we find a way to fix this. You have my word.”

Jack’s eyes never once leave his while Sam is speaking, and it’s almost overwhelming to be granted a glimpse into the sheer amount of trust and faith swelling within them ( _Trust in_ Sam. _Who would ever have thought such a thing to be possible?)_ , each word driving away a small portion of that lost and soul-crushing hopelessness Sam saw in them before. And by the time he’s done talking, while there are still obvious signs of both fear and stress in the lines of Jack’s face, there’s no doubt in Sam’s mind that Jack is on board, even before the affirmatory “okay” is uttered.

“Alright.” Standing up (and relinquishing Jack’s hand in the process), Sam looks steadfastly down at his son- this unconventional family member who burst into his life little more than a year prior, and who has already suffered so much- and wills his still pounding heart to catch up with his head’s decisions. “What do you want to do first?”

“...I think,” Jack says, shrugging off the blanket and rising to join Sam on his feet. He trails off and turns slightly in place, gaze contemplating the door for several long seconds, before glancing back over at Sam. “I think I have to tell Castiel what’s really going on.”

“Alright, then.” Shifting a couple of steps, Sam places a steadying hand on Jack’s shoulder (though which of them he’s steadying he’s still not a hundred percent sure) and offers a proud, encouraging smile. “Let’s go.”

Everything is going to be okay. _Jack_ is going to be okay.

Sam’s going to make sure of it.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks a lot for reading! I hope you liked it! And feel free (if you have the time) to drop a comment below!
> 
> (And just a reminder: If you love the Jam Fam and want a space to chat with other like-minded people, drop me a line on tumblr (monkeysatemylastrolo) and I can send you a link to the Jam Fam discord server. Fair warning, though: we can occasionally be a little critical of Dean. Just in case you were wondering.)
> 
> And now I'm off to (internet willing) watch the latest episode!!!


End file.
